Green with Envy
by Azora1
Summary: Bruce Banner thinks a little, drinks a lot, and watches TNN.


Title: Green with Envy  
  
Author: Azora  
  
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of Marvel and are created by someone else.  
  
Summary: Bruce Banner thinks a little, drinks a lot, and watches TNN.  
  
Author's Notes: Star Trek: TNG is really on TNN on Friday nights. Gotta love that! The "three knockers" reference is a little copy from the Family Guy. And the dialogue phone call with Nick Fury is a direct copy from Ultimates issue #2.  
  
  
  
The bottle clinked loudly against the top of the wine glass as he filled it again. Oops. He was halfway through a second bottle of red and he intended to finish this one off too. And maybe a third if he felt like it. Sleeping in a drunken stupor kept the dreams away. Sometimes.  
  
And he'd needed a drink tonight too. Hank Pym's experiment had turned out just fine. He supposed he should feel excited. Fifty-nine feet, eleven and a half inches tall, smiling and flirting with his wife. No green skin, no uncontrollable rage. Why wouldn't Dr. Banner, the king of all genetic screw-ups be thrilled? Go Hank.  
  
That overgrown pill-popping candy freak had come in with a smile on his face and taken over like he'd been in charge forever. Why shouldn't he be smiling? He was in charge now, he was sixty feet tall, and his wife was a beauty. Jerk. Pym acted like Banner wasn't even there. He shouldn't be surprised about that. Lots of people overlooked him.  
  
But at least it was Friday night. He could sit back and relax with this half a bottle, no, a quarter of a bottle of wine, and watch Friday Night Bonus Treks on TNN. Four straight hours of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Okay, that was a good thing. Life is actually freaking fabulous, see?  
  
Sarcasm, a drowning man's last grasp at humor. Any other humor he tried just fell flat any way. Everyone tiptoed around him like he was going to go off and Hulk out again at any second.  
  
If only that were true.  
  
Whoa. Did he really just think that? Get it straight, Banner, the Hulk is a bad thing. Bad like techno music or sugar-free candy.  
  
Oh, but the power. All that power, right in his thin, delicate little hands. Too bad all that anger had to come with it.  
  
Forget it. Start thinking about something else. He turned his attention back to the television. Deanna Troi was wearing one of those tight, low- cut Star Fleet uniforms. This episode must be from the second season. She was so hot. Always better looking than Gates McFadden, in his opinion. He had a thing for brunettes. He wondered if, with her empathy, she'd be able to pick up what a man liked in the sack.  
  
Banner chuckled and took another big drink of wine. Pathetic. He was fantasizing about a TV character. At least it wasn't that chick with the three knockers from Total Recall this time. He needed to get laid. Desperately. How long had it been since Betty left, anyway?  
  
Oh, great job Bruce, he chastised himself. Had to go think about her, didn't you?  
  
Betty. With the super-soldier serum always a step out of his grasp, she'd been the one light in his life. A little jolt of happiness at the end of yet another crappy day. Then she'd gone too. Everything gone.  
  
Why does everything have to go away?  
  
The tears were hot on his cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Banner, you pansy. Crying on your sofa and drinking wine, of all things. He picked up the bottle and turned it over. Empty. He stood and tiptoed barefoot across strewn paperwork to the kitchen. See Banner? a little voice said inside. You even walk like a pansy.  
  
He ditched the empty wine bottle in the sink and grabbed a third out of the fridge. He was unsteady on his feet. Too drunk to drive a car, but not enough to pass out. He'd just have to get to work on this next bottle.  
  
He plopped back down on the sofa and laid back, head tilted back, and he blinked lazily at the ceiling. He glanced over and noticed the cordless phone sitting on the end table. What would it hurt, one little call? Just to hear her voice. Just to find out how she was doing.  
  
He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. Two rings.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out.  
  
"Hel-lo?"  
  
Nothing. His tongue, heavy and dry from the wine, lay dead in his mouth like a conspirator in the 'Let's Make Betty Hate You' plot.  
  
An exasperated sigh. "Bruce, is that you? I can just star six nine this call, you know!"  
  
He hung up. Smooth, real smooth. Great way to make her love you again. Just keep up the creepy stalker bit and she'll leap back in to your arms.  
  
He felt the tears trying to creep back when the phone rang. Oh, this couldn't be good.  
  
"Betty?" he answered meekly.  
  
"Is that always how you answer your phone, Banner?" Fury. Even better. "How you doing, big guy?"  
  
Big guy. Ha. Not quite. "How am I doing? How do you think I'm doing, General? Hank Pym is swaggering around and calling himself Giant Man and I'm sitting here with a bottle of wine and scribbling useless equations all over a Foolscap pad."  
  
He was starting to slur his words. He took a deep breath. "Why am I letting this guy just walk all over me like this? He's going to end up creating the whole blasted team if I don't crack this idiotic super-soldier formula soon. And why can't I open my mouth to these people without coming off like a complete and utter."  
  
"Shut up, Banner," Fury interrupted him.  
  
He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Excuse me, General?"  
  
"I said shut up and crack open that bottle of champagne you've been saving for the next season of Star Trek, Doctor Banner. The answer to your prayers has just been answered." Fury paused, taking a drink of something. "You're not going to believe what they've just fished out of the Artic Ocean."  
  
Banner frowned as his brain tried to pick through the wine-induced haze. His eyes drifted up to a picture on his wall, a photograph of the great Captain America, taken back in the forties. The answer hit him in the chest, and he exhaled sharply. No. It couldn't be.  
  
"Cap?" his voice squeaked out.  
  
"Stay there," Fury commanded. "We're bringing him to you." He disconnected.  
  
Excitement bubbled up in Bruce's throat. Captain America? He shot up off the couch with a loud "Whoop!" At least he wasn't depressed-drunk anymore. More like elatedly intoxicated. Okay, drunk doctor is not a good doctor. He headed toward the shower, hoping the cold might sober him up.  
  
Completely dead or maybe revivable, Captain America was the final piece of the puzzle. A grin lit up Bruce's face. Maybe things weren't so bad after all! 


End file.
